


When You're On The Way Down I'll Never Tell

by austinthegrouch



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adulthood, Canon Character of Color, Canonical Character Death, Childhood Sweethearts, Complicated Relationships, Death Eaters, Dialogue Heavy, Drinking to Cope, Drunken Kissing, First Love, Gay Male Character, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Drinking, LGBTQ Character of Color, Lost Love, M/M, Memories, Post-Hogwarts, Post-War, Slytherins Being Slytherins, Snogging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-08-05 04:56:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16361231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/austinthegrouch/pseuds/austinthegrouch
Summary: Gregory Goyle can't handle life without Vincent on his birthday.





	When You're On The Way Down I'll Never Tell

**Author's Note:**

> I'm an asexual Hufflepuff who writes mostly about Gryffindors and the occasional Ravenclaw/Hufflepuff. So here's my attempt at Slytherin representation, dialogue, and sexual tension.

"Another shot," he mumbles to a greasy, ridiculously hairy bartender. This was the seediest dive he could find and fuck, he just wants to get properly pissed. He can't even taste any of it anymore. He leans back and drowns his "glorified lighter fluid", as Draco used to say, back when they snuck out their parents liquor. The tears won't come and he's glad for it. He cried all he could back at the funeral. He slumps onto the cold surface of the bar, desperate to feel anything at the moment. 

"Close his tab. I'm taking him home." Goyle hears a familiar voice and fights the urge to run. Why is he here? The only one from the old days he still keeps in contact with is Malfoy, and that's mostly guilt. Everyone involved on the "wrong" side of the war tried to stay as far away from each other as possible. Even neutral Slytherins like Greengrass were at risk. And he and Blaise were dorm mates at best. 

"What's a big-shot like ya doing in a place like this, Zabini?" He snorts mockingly. He'd always, always looked down on them, too cultured to deal with their primitive minds. Blaise sighs, arrogant as always. God, he wants to smash his face in. 

"Could ask the same of the Goyle heir. Don't you have an estate to manage now that your father's out of the way?" Goyle slams his head back down. He doesn't get to say that. Not when he's never had one. Not today.

"Bastard. It's his birthday." He croaks, aware of the burn in his throat. And this time it's not from the alcohol. 

"Who? Your dad?" Blaise asks, genuinely confused. Obviously a pretty boy like him would never remember, even though it haunts Gregory's every waking moment.

"No, arsehole. Vin's. He would've been 19 today, y'know?" He doesn't know why he's still talking to him, other than the fact that it's been so long since he's talked to anyone. Really talked. 

"Vin? Wait, you're talking about Crabbe, right?"

"Who else? And that's exactly why I'm here. I think about him every day, but no one else loved him. Not even his parents." His last few words are practically a sob. He takes a final swig and stands, willing Blaise not to say anything about his sorry state. 

And then promptly stumbles into him. Blaise catches him and props him back up. Damn, why did it have to happen in front of him of all people?

"I'm not letting you leave by yourself. I don't think you can even apparate like this." 

"So what? S'not like you can take me home. You've never been. And s'not on the floo." Blair's face turns serious, looking utterly out of place.

"Stay at mine for the night. I've a flat a couple streets down. The walk'll do you some good." Goyle desperately wants to refuse, but the sudden lurch in his stomach tells him that'd be a bad decision. 

"Fine. I'll leave first thing." Blaise nods, and helps him to his feet and out the door. His arm is warm, and surprisingly comfortable, despite the chill of the night. Gregory slumps, determined to make this as uncomfortable for the both of them as possible. Even if Blaise had decided to cash in his single good deed this century for him, he didn't have to like it. 

It takes a few moments for him to find his keys. A few very long, incredibly awkward moments, where all Goyle can focus on is his hands, skillfully rummaging through each pocket, perfect nails prominent in the hallway lights. Of course a prick like him would have nice hands, even if he had played Quidditch.

His mind turns back to Vin. His tough palms and thick calluses from years of working on brooms, a pastime his mother always gave him shit for. Broken nails because he was always in a fight for some reason or another, and not all of them involved magic. 

Greg collapses on the couch, a nice purple leather worth more than most muggles probably earned in a year, and stares at Blaise for a moment.

"You're still an arse, but thanks. You could've just left me." Zabini looks slightly upset for a minute, but it's probably just a mix of the mood lighting and his natural pout. He sighs, running a hand through his crewcut. Goyle watches, slightly captivated by the movement, not that he'd ever admit it. 

"We've known each other since we were eleven, Goyle. I hope you don't consider me a complete villain." His smile seems to mock himself more than anything and he wants to snog it away. So he does, wrapping his thick arms around Blaise's shoulders and pulling him closer. He leans into it for a second and then pulls away. 

"Isn't this me taking advantage of a sad drunk?" He says. Greg just scoffs and grabs tighter. 

"Since when were you such a gentleman, Zabini? And if anything, I'm taking advantage of you." Blaise seems to accept it, their kiss growing more and more passionate. Greg hasn't snogged anyone since Vin. Even before, it was always him and no one else. 

But for now he's in someone else's arms, unfamiliar lips and tongue pressed against his own.


End file.
